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My fists slam on the counter. “Dammit. How dumb have I been?” Levi is right. I’m the one to blame. I need to spill the beans. Bear the responsibility. Before I rush out of the bathroom, I come to my senses. What would that do? Nothing. My dad’s words ring in my head. “Actions always speak louder than words, princess.” So, I begin to construct a plan in hopes of saving this case.
If Clara Hill won’t come to us, I’ll go to her.
Hannah
I’m taking a chance. More like playing with fire. This trip can blow up in my face. I could end up in a jail cell for obstruction of justice, tampering with a witness, trespassing, harassment—“Oh god, please let this work out.” There’s no hiding my sweaty palms or the nerves fluttering in my stomach. As I drive, I imagine Levi’s reaction. Okay…maybe let’s not focus on his reaction. There’s no doubt he’s going to be mad. But there’s no way whoever scared Clara off is going to get away with it. I want her to tell me to my face she’s giving up, and then I have one shot to change her mind.
Thoughts of Levi take a backseat as I enter the rural town of Crete. Unlike where I’m from, the streets are deceptively quiet. They aren’t filled with impatient drivers, sounds of horns honking, pedestrians dodging cars, or do-not-walk signs. It’s just…quiet. Also a little eerie. I drive down the ghost town on Main Street. One after another, each storefront displays a closed sign. It’s been almost a year since the accident, and the town still hasn’t recovered. But how can they after everything they’ve lost? Crete was an off-the-map, small town, famous for its tucked away paper mill. A good ninety-percent of the community worked there. The other small percent held the storefront jobs. The antique store, the barber, the corner bookstore, the pub. It was your typical hidden place in the world everyone forgot about. Until Miller Industries showed up.
Benjamin Miller offered them a deal. Painted them this beautiful image of what life in the town of Crete could be if they allowed them to build. Growth, jobs, life—he promised it all. They simply had to sign off on a high-rise deal. The town had been divided. More jobs, more future opportunities for their kids, their kid’s kids. But also, disruption of their small-town feel. It would bring a wealthy amount of traffic to Crete. Theresa Simmons would no longer lose sleep at night worrying how she was going to make enough sales to keep her antique store open. Jerald Hope needed renovations to his barbershop. With the posh hotel they would build within the high-rise, it would bring an abundance of travelers to his shop. More business equated to extra income. Those repairs would be done within the first year the construction was complete. They even convinced Alba Winters from the bookstore this boost in traffic would bring in the possibility of famous authors to her establishment. Signings and readers from towns over visiting her store. They created the perfect picture, and they knew how to wine and dine each townsperson and business owner.
These people were barely making ends meet. They couldn’t afford to have Benjamin Miller come in and plant workers in their town, taking jobs away from the ones who desperately needed them. No need to fear, Miller Industries said. They already had a plan. They would hire from within. Anyone of age to work had a job. By the time Miller Industries was walking out of those meetings, those townspeople had already written their lists of what they would be spending their future influx of money on.
That money never came.
Theresa Simmons was visiting her husband on that construction site the day of the accident. She lost her life in the process, and so did her husband. Jerald Hope’s oldest son, Bryce, who had just turned eighteen, lost his life. Alba Winters’ husband and two sons were lost. Four months ago, she was found in the back of her store. She’d hung herself. My stomach drops, chills cascading down my arms as I pass the bookstore.
So many lives lost. For nothing. These poor people didn’t even have the means to fight what Miller Industries did to them. The entire community was forced to bury their loved ones and spend whatever they had left trying to pick up the pieces. Until one person stepped up: Clara Hill, the only person who still had a sliver of faith in the world. Just as tired as the rest, she used the last of her energy on finding someone who would take pity on their case—aka my dad.
Clara was suffering too. Not only did she lose her husband, but her oldest son had been on the job. It wasn’t until later she realized her youngest, Gregory, had been on the site that day as well. He’d wanted to watch his brother work. He had been out of the building when the explosion occurred, but still endured extensive injuries, almost losing both his legs when flying debris smashed into him as he was riding his bike away. So many people are hurting. Some won’t ever recover. And if Clara gives up, she gives up for the whole town. She is their only fighting chance. And I can’t let that happen.
